


Tools in a Shed

by Persephiroth



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Blowjobs, Fluff and Angst, Gay Keith (Voltron), Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Hockey Player Keith, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Swim Team Lance, klance, locked-in-a-room trope, minor shallura, not really tho, percieved homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 14:00:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11106033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephiroth/pseuds/Persephiroth
Summary: Lance and Keith had never gotten along, but when he took the last slice of Hunk's famous Triple Strawberry Cream Cake at Shiro's grad party, it was the last straw. A fight escalates, ending with Lance in the pool, an angry Allura, and an ashamed Keith.As punishment, Allura locks the pair of them in a shed so they can work out their feelings.





	Tools in a Shed

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I'm writing fanfic again. This is my first in almost a decade.
> 
> I am such trash for these boys and it is a problem. This was a practice fic, originally, to get my bearings for a longer, separate fic.

Tools in a Shed

 

 

It was 90 degrees, he was surrounded by people, and Lance couldn’t even get a piece of the cake.

Normally, this would be fine, except Keith was there, and he’d taken the last slice, snatching it from underneath Lance’s hand with a smirk, fingerless gloves curling around the edge of the plate like it was some kind of sacred fucking trophy.

Lance had ground his teeth, bitten his lip, and remembered what Allura had said.

_“Lance, if you fight with Shiro’s brother at his grad party, I will slaughter you.”_

_“It isn’t my fault he’s an—“_

_“Slaughter.”_

_"But—“_

_“They won’t find a piece of you big enough to identify.”_

“They won’t find a piece of you big enough to identiy,” Lance huffed under his breath, poorly imitating Allura’s snooty accent, “ _Dios_.” Who did she think she was? The Queen of England probably, but like this was the United States. Also, fuck her, Lance was totally capable of fucking behaving at Shiro’s grad party. He loved Shiro; even Allura had to know that.

Which is why when Keith stole the last slice of triple layer strawberries and cream cake from the bakery Hunk’s family owned, which was only second to an actual orgasm for how much Lance fantasized about it, he said nothing. He shut his mouth, locked his jaw, and turned away. He didn’t even turn back at the sound of Keith’s laughter.

God, he wanted to punch that fuck right in his—

“Everything alright, Lance?”

“Hunk, my man! Just the right guy to be a distraction!”

Hunk raised an eyebrow, and crossed his arms, “Distraction?”

“From a certain short fuck with a mullet,” Lance smiled, hard as he could. It didn’t touch his eyes. Hunk sighed.

“What did you do now?

“Why does everyone assume I did something?”

“I mean, you started this whole rivalry—“

“I didn’t start it! I’m just gonna be the one to finish it. Pale ass, black-haired, early 2000s emo reject cake stealing—Hi Allura!”

Lance hid his rant behind an even bigger smile as Allura walked around Hunk. She raised a single pale brow—Lance hadn’t seen her this annoyed since he asked if the silver drapes matched the treasure downstairs, knowwhatI’msayin’?

“Everything alright, Lance?”

“Peachy.” Lance tried to blame the sweat that dripped down his neck on the heat, but no, it was all from the heat of Allura’s inquisitive glare. She was fucking scary when she wanted to be, and Lance had no desire to be flipped over the fence. Again.

“Hm.” She clucked her tongue and walked off. Lance let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“Fuck, she’s scary.”

“She’s a sweetheart,” Hunk said.

“A sweetheart with the strength of ten men."

“She’s just protective of Shiro. He hates it when you and Keith fight, you know.”

Lance sucked in a breath, then let it out. “I know, man. Shiro’s disappointed face is like, making a puppy cry.”

“Yeah. But you never said what it was that Keith did that was so—“

“Last piece of your cake, man.”

Hunk gasped.

“Yeah.”

“But you love that cake!”

“Yep.”

“I only make it a few times a year.”

“I know.”

“He knows you love that—“

“Oh yeah, it was on purpose.” The rage deflated out of Lance. “For Shiro, right?”

Hunk nodded, “For Shiro.”

Hunk walked away, promising to make Lance a smaller cake than the full sheet he had made for Shiro’s party, and even if Lance could tell it was a bribe for good behavior, he appreciated it. If a bribe came with Hunk’s cooking, you damn well took it. It was the closest any mere mortal could get to a choir of angels singing. Pretty sure the cake he made his abuelita last year was the only reason she accepted his bisexuality when Lance came out.

Lance sighed, and looked around the party. It was a mixture of people---Shiro was, to say the least, popular at the Garrison, the University he and the others went to. Shiro had been in his senior year when Lance had entered, along with his brother Keith and Hunk. He’d sort of been like, a mentor for him and Hunk, and later Pidge. Three years later, and Shiro graduated with his master’s in astrophysics.

They were all proud. That, at least, Lance knew he and Keith could agree on. It was probably the only damn thing.

  
Keith was on the other side of Allura’s pool (party was at her house—she was loaded and no way could the entire faculty and all of Shiro’s friends fit in he and Keith’s tiny apartment), standing next to Coran, Allura’s Uncle. Keith looked traumatized as Coran told some crazy story, complete with Coran-typical arm waves, gestures, and twirls of his ridiculous bushy moustache. Keith’s stolen plate of cake lay in his hand, untouched, and forgotten.

It made Lance smile. Served him fucking righ—

“You sure do stare at him a lot for someone who hates him.”

Lance jumped. “The FUCK, Pidge.”

Pidge sat behind him, lounging in one of the pool chairs, sticking their fork into a barbecued sausage. “Not my fault you’re as unobservant as a goldfish.”

“Goldfish?”

“They have like a five minute attention span.”

“I’m not a goldfish.”

“You’re right, might be giving you too much credit. You’re staring, dude.”

“Tch.” Lance glared at them, turning away from Keith. “It’s hard not to. I just hate him so fucking—“

“Hate. Right.”

Lance frowned. “I don’t know why you have that tone, but I don’t like it.”

Pidge shrugged, crossing their legs underneath their green-and-white board shorts. “You won’t like it even more if Allura catches you looking like a sad sack at Shiro’s party. Lighten up, will you?”

“Impossible. My skin is too luscious and tan.”

“You’re gross.”

“What’s it like to have a sun burn, Pidge?”

“Okay, fuck you dude. The sun hates white people.”

“At least something does.”

“True. For real tho, you look like you got smacked in the face with a thundercloud. Just ignore him. Just for today. I almost believe you can do it.”

“Almost?”

“Probability of failure is about 88%. I’m taking a risk.”

“What?”

“Plus if you lose, I’ll win the bet and get to see you get wrecked. Win-win.”

“You bet on whether I’d start a fight?”

“Tch, we all did.”

“Won’t telling me ruin the bet?” Lance crossed his arms. Pidge snorted.

“Like knowing is gonna stop you.” Pidge took a large bite out of the sausage, and chewed. Lance frowned.

“I hope that’s the only sausage you ever get.”

“Ace, jackass, so thanks for the well wishes.” They gave him a thumbs up. “Now run off and don’t make an ass out of yourself. It’s worth losing 20 bucks to not make Takashi cry.”

“I—you bet against me!”

“I believe in you—but I ain’t stupid.”

Lance grumbled, walking away from Pidge. Was everyone at this party out to piss him off? Only Hunk seemed to care about—

_Breathe. Breathe. You are not in high school anymore, Lance. You will not be self-centered at Shiro’s party. This is a big deal. You will not be the one to make the soft hunk cry. As added incentive, Allura will—_

_Oof_.

And Lance was on the ground.

“ _Mierda_!” He landed right against the concrete edge of the pool, scraping his ass through the shorts. Lance frowned, rubbing at it. That’s what I get for not paying attention. He hadn’t been paying attention, he’d admit that.

He was about to say that and apologize, but then--

“Way to pay attention, jackass.”

_Oh. Oh no._

Keith stood in front of him, hands on slim hips, mouth cast down in a sneer. Lance’s blood heated to a steady boil, growing too hot to ignore in the summer heat.

“Sorry, guess I didn’t see you there, short-stack.”

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he regretted it. Keith scowled.

“Short-stack? I’m only two inches shorter than you?”

Lance gave him a smug look, “Two inches makes a world of difference, babe.”

  
Keith’s cheeks exploded into red. Lance thought he was about to have an aneurism. Might have been funny, if in the back of his head there wasn’t a voice screaming YOU ARE AT SHIRO’S GRAD PARTY.

“You don’t have anything to brag about.”

“How would you know that?” Lance stood up, rubbing dirt off his shorts and jutting out a hip, “been looking lately?”

“More like you always run your fucking mouth about it. Oh, I’m Lance, I’m the greatest fucking lay ever. Maybe if you ever got laid.”

“Fucking rich coming from Keith the Ice Queen. Tell me, did you sell your soul to My Chemical Romance when you were thirteen, or to Bright Eyes when you were 20?”  
  
“At least I don’t masturbate to Britney Spears!”

“You’re not fucking good enough for Britney!”

By now, the voice in the back of Lance’s head was pointing out that they were being stared at. By everyone. Everyone. Allura’s backyard was not small, and there were at least sixty people, almost all of whom knew Lance and Keith, even if only tangentially, watching them throw a fucking hissy fit.

It should have made Lance feel shame. It should have made him stop. It should have done a lot of things. But all Lance could focus on was Keith and his stupid fucking face screaming at him, Lance’s voice getting louder and louder with every jab.

“Billy Ray Cyrus wants his hair back!”

“His daughter wants her personality back!”

“Did you just slut shame Miley?”

“The only slut here is you!”

“I thought I couldn’t get laid?”

“Only with the desperate or blind!”

“Oh, so Nyma was blind?”

At that Keith froze. Lance noticed then just how close they’d moved together. He could make out the hestitation in Keith’s gray eyes, just a flicker, a second, and then a snarl.

“No, at least she was smart enough to dump your ass.”

All the heat on Lance’s skin, all the warmth that made the sweat pool in his lower back, the fire that caused his veins to enflame, went cold. Ice cold. A kingdom of isolation cold.

Keith knew. Everyone knew what Nyma had done to him. Everyone knew how destroyed she’d left Lance, how heartbroken he was. Hunk had spent days consoling him. Shiro had talked to him for hours on the phone. Even Pidge and Allura had kidnapped him from his room when he refused to leave it, forcing him to go out with them to the park. Everyone knew that for months on end, whatever light had been within Lance had died when Nyma told him she’d been cheating on him, and left him for the sleepy-eyed drug dealer on the other side of campus.

Everyone knew.

“Take it back.” Lance growled, low in his throat, rage reducing his voice to little more than a whisper.

Keith’s eyes widened, but he said nothing. All around them, the crowd tensed.

“I said,” Lance took a step closer to Keith, so he was in his space. “Take.” He shoved two fingers into Keith’s chest, making him stumble with a grunt. “It. Another press. “Back.” The final.

Keith’s eyes flared, and with a snarl, he shoved Lance.

Keith was not weak. He was on the hockey team, a perfect fit for an angry piece of shit like him. He might have been short, but he had a lot of strength and Lance went flying back, arms waving in the air, until suddenly there was no ground beneath him

For a brief second, he was weightless.

And then he crashed into the water of the pool, the last thing he hear shouts from he people in the water, limbs flailing to get away from him as he sruggled, flipping backwards in the deep end. Water filled his nostrils, and he coughed, unable to get his bearings.

It wasn’t until a pair of hands grabbed him and yanked him to the surface that he realized what was happening.

He gasped for breath, shaking his head, sending water droplets everywhere, and coughed, hard. Allura, swimming next to him, had him gripped by his tank top, yanking him without ceremony to the side.

“I’m on the fucking swim team!” Allura ignored him, pushing him to the side where Hunk pulled him out of the water with one hand.

Hunk sighed. “You really blew it this time, Lance.”

Shame, an unfamiliar feeling for Lance, rippled through Lance. The crowd was still staring—but not all of them at him.

Keith still stood by the edge of the pool, arms crossed. Shiro was in front of him, all tall and imposing muscle, and the disappointment on his face was palpable. Lance could feel it in his fucking bones.

There was an unspoken rule in their friend group—do not make Shiro sad.

They’d both broken that one.

Allura climbed out of the pool, and leveled a harsh glare at Lance.

“I warned you.”

*

Without ceremony, Lance was dragged through the lawn by Hunk.

“Let me go, I can show myself out, fuck!”

“Oh, you aren’t leaving,” Allura said, walking straight back next to Hunk. “I’ve had it up to my ears with you two and your fighting. We’re settling this, now.”

“Settling—ow, fuck!” Lance’s thighs burned where his ass slid across the grass. He tried to stand and stumbled as Hunk yanked. “Fuck, I liked these shorts. I liked my skin too!”

“You’d better be glad I’m not taking a pound of your fucking flesh, so shut up,” Allura hissed. Lance paled. Allura didn’t swear. Allura never swore.

Oh, he was in for it now.

Hunk and Allura followed to the back of the yard—few enough people wehre there, and under the shade of a nearby tree was a small tool shed, painted white with two windows. Allura opened the door.

“Toss him in there.”

Without ceremony, Hunk threw Lance in the doorway. Lance squeaked, and struggled not to smack into the wall of the shed.

“Fuck, what are you—“

“You are not to leave this shed until you two idiots work things out.” Allura put a hand on her hip in front of the open doorway. Even Hunk looked stern.

“Until we—what—“

“Us, jackass.”

Lance stilled, turned his head. There, of course, in the darkest corner of the shed, was Keith, barely looking at Lance through the corner of his eyes, arms crossed over his black tank top and flannel.

“Oh, fuck no—“

Lance was cut off by the sound of a door slamming.

“What? They’re just going to put us in here and expect what? Fuck that, I’m leav—“

Then there was the sound of rattling chains, and the snap of a lock.

“Oh, fuck no.” Lance rushed to the door and slammed his fists against the bare board. “This is fucking kidnapping!”

“After the shit you pulled last summer, do you really think the police will care?”

“Those walls were begging to be decorated, Allura, don’t fucking give me that! I’ll call my parents!”

“And your parents will ask me what happened, and then suggest I leave you in there. They like me better than you.”

“That’s not true!” It kind of was true. “Fuck—I—“

“Talk, Lance. We’ll be back later.”

“How fucking late is later? Allura!? ALLURAAAAAA?”

“Jesus fucking Christ on a pancake would you shut the fuck up?”

Lance didn’t look at Keith, just flipped him the bird over his shoulder. “Not now, mullet-breath.”

“That doesn’t even make sense—“

“Neither does us being locked in a fucking shed together! ALLURA!”

“She’s gone, you goddamn idiot.”

Lance slumped against the door—a mistake, since the shed walls were unfinished plywood on the inside, and rough as fuck. His skin was already rubbed off on his ass—he wasn’t about to lose his face too. He kicked the door, forgetting he was wearing flip flops.

“Fuck!”

“Wow, really working on that dunce cap, huh? I guess it’s an achievement award for you.”

“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up.”

“Why? You never do.”  
Lance turned from the doorway. He could feel every vein in his face throbbing, his head pounding, and Keith looked for all the world like a smug cat curled up in his dark little goth corner.

“Do you not get, Evanescence, that we are trapped in a fucking locked tool shed? Who the fuck even put you here?”

Keith snorted. “Shiro.”

“Shiro dragged your ass here?”

“No, he asked me to.” Keith rolled his eyes. “Not all of us are immature enough to need our asses dragged.”

“No, just immature to fight someone and push them in the pool.”

Lance wasn’t sure, with the shadows around his face, but he thought Keith may have turned pink. “You’re the one who walked into me!”

Lance let out a frustrated groan. “Fucking hell. What if we get hungry? They gonna starve us in here too—“

“There’s food.”

“What?”

Keith rolled his eyes and pointed to the opposite corner of the shed. There, there was a small cooler, and two plates of food stacked neatly on top of each other.

“Did Shiro bring those with you?”

“No, they were here.”

Lance blinked around the shed. “Also…why aren’t there any tools in here?”

That got Keith’s attention. He pushed away from the wall and looked. “I mean, there’s not always—“

“There’s not even a rake. There’s hooks for stuff in the walls…”

Lance looked around. Plenty of hooks and posts and shelves to hold things on every wall, but nothing—there was a trash barrel underneath the shelving at the back of the shed, and a few big leaf bags, but beyond that, the shed was bare, except for the cooler, food, and two angry boys.

Lance frowned. “I’ve been in this shed before. There’s usually a ton of shit.”

“Yeah. But it’s empty now.”

“Why is—“

Lance and Keith both looked each other in the eyes, both looks flat.

“They planned this,” Keith said.

“Yep.”

“They cleared out the shed so we couldn’t beat each other…”

“Yep.”

“Put a cooler in here…”

“Uh-huh.”

“And left food.”

“Seems to be the case.”

They stood there, in silence. Keith’s fists clenched together.

“I’m gonna kill them.”

“Get in line, emo kid.”

“I can’t fucking believe—“

“I can. I so can. Pidge fucking thought this shit up. You know they did.”

“Them or Allura. It sure as fuck wasn’t Shiro or Hunk.”

“But Hunk helped. You know he did.”

Keith let out a growl, and punched the wall of the shed hard enough for it to shake. Good thing he was wearing fingerless gloves.

“Fuck!”

“The betting on us I almost get by comparison.”

“They bet on us too?”

Lance sighed, crossing his arms and lowering himself into a crouch. Most of the fight had been knocked out of him. “That surprises you? Really?”

Keith sighed. “Guess not.”

Silence hummed between them. In the distance, Lance could hear the music from the party, the thing keen of high pitched laughter, but not much. The shed was in the back corner of the plot, and Allura’s house had a lot of land. Coran, her uncle, was a real estate tycoon—this house was actually Allura’s, and he had others, but he hated being alone, or so Allura had said.

Ugh. Lance did not want to think about Allura right now. Annoyed as he was, could he really say he didn’t deserve it? Fuck, even he was disappointed in himself.

He didn’t want to fuck up Shiro’s party. Wasn’t like he wasn’t already the laughing stock of his friends—most of the time he didn’t mind it. If he fucked up, it could be a memory, a funny story that just happened to suck at the time. Lance bounced back easily.

This shit with Keith, though? No one found it funny anymore. It hadn’t always been this way—started out with friendly bickering that just got more and more heated until Lance couldn’t stand the guy. It was bad enough he was the best in the astrophysics program, always edging out Lance, always. It had been a rivalry at first.

Now? Now he just couldn’t stand to be in a room with him. Lo and behold, that’s exactly what his friends did when they had enough, and Lance knew Allura well enough that she would be stubborn enough to leave them there all night until they like, made up or bonded or whatever.

Bonded…with Keith. Lance cast a small glance at Keith, back in his corner again. He cast his eye down at Keith’s legs, smooth underneath black cargo shorts, up to the muscular chest in a tank top, forearms strong underneath his flannel. He finally settled on his face and nearly squeaked when he found Keith giving him the same look, and looked away as fast as he could.

 _Jesus Fuck._ Lance’s heart pounded, his palms sweaty. God, had he just been caught checking out Keith? No, no, he wasn’t checking him out—not at all. Sure, he’d noticed he was not bad looking, even with the mullet. Lance did have eyes. The boy was pretty, but even pretty isn’t enough to ignore what a tremendous douchebag he was. He’d learned that when he first fucking met him. Just because he happened to be a little pretty, only a little--

“Do you need something?” Keith raised a single, thick brow.

\--Okay, a lot. He was a lot pretty. Sometimes, when they were yelling at each other, the only thing Lance could think of was just how fucking intense and handsome he looked when he was angry. Lance swallowed a tightness in his throat. He opened his mouth to say something, then promptly stood. “Yeah, food.”

Keith raised an eyebrow, “Food?” he said lazily, full lips dropping low, “You really want food at a time like this?”

“Yes,” Lance lied. He’d just shoved three burgers in his face before what had happened with Keith, but he definitely needed to do something to fight away the swell of thoughts in his head, and the growing one beneath his waist. He wasn’t hard yet, but it hit him how kinky being locked in a room with Keith could be if the boy liked dick and that was not a good chain of thought in swim trunks.

So, it was either stuff his face or actually talk to Keith and that was so not gonna happen. “I always want food.”

“No shit. You eat like you’ve been in the desert for years.”

Lance walked over to the cooler and picked up one of the plates. “Yeah, well, I’m a growing boy.”

“I don’t know where the fuck you put it all.”

He unwrapped the foil. Ooh, chicken and steak. His stomach gave a gurgle. Okay, maybe he could eat.

“Third hollow leg,” Lance mumbled, looking for forks. “Hey, do you see any—“

He looked at Keith and stopped. Keith wasn’t looking at him—instead, he was trying his hardest to look anywhere but him, his face redder than the tomatoes in Lance’s mom’s garden.

“Yo, heat getting to you or something?”

“Why the fuck does everything have to be sexual with you?”

Lance blinked at Keith, “Uh…wuh?”

“Third hollow leg? Fuck you, Lance.” Keith still wasn’t looking at him, and he didn’t sound angry, for once, just defeated. Lance frowned.

“I didn’t mean it that—“

“Oh, just this time you didn’t?”

“Oh, hey, I’m sorry.” Lance looked down at the cooler, opened it, and yes silverware packed on top of the ice. “Not my fault you’re a mega prude.”

“I am not a prude!”

“Sure seem like it. Shame too—hockey team has every girl on campus throwing themselves at you.”

Lance reached down for the silverware, but before he did, he was met with the most blessed cool sensation from the ice. Fuck, it was hot in the shed—hotter than the ninety degrees out there without the wind, and it wasn’t even noon yet. It was only going to get worse.

Lance sat on the ground by the cooler, leaving it open, and put his back to it, letting out a soft moan, and breathing out his mouth. He let his eyes close.“Fuck, that is so much better.”

Keith choked.

Lance’s eyes flew open, looking at Keith. “What?”

Now Keith was looking at him, even redder than before. Now Lance was worried. He got up. “Seriously, Keith—is the heat getting to you?”

“N-no. It isn’t. Fuck you.”

“Dude, goddamn it, I’m an EMT—it’s hot in here. Have you had anything to drink?”

“You’re…what?”

“You didn’t know? I work the weekend shift. Pays my tuition.” Lance got up and stood in front of Keith. “And I may hate your ass but I’m not spending an afternoon in a room with a dead body.”

He reached out and grabbed Keith’s forearm. He thought for a second Keith might resist when he pulled him, but for once he didn’t.

“Sit on the other side of the cooler---oh, and drink this.”

Lance pulled a bottle of water from the cooler and held it out to Keith. Keith hesitated before taking it.

“…thanks.”

“You should probably put something cool on your forehead too.” Lance thought—oh, “take off your shirt.”

Keith had been making to sit down, but at that he stood up straight and rigid as a board. “What?”

Lance scowled at him. “So I can make an ice pack out of it? Fuck, are you really that much of a prude?”

Keith ground his teeth. “Listen, asshole—“

Lance rolled his eyes. “Whatever, we’ll use mine.”

*

Keith was in hell.

Not only was it fucking hot enough to be, but goddamn Lance was taking off his shirt in front of him. Keith’s entire body warmed as Lance pulled the shirt over his taut belly, swimmer’s muscle stretching underneath brown skin. Keith swallowed as the tank top when over his head, trying not to stare and failing, at Lance’s dark nipples, the fine thread of hair that dipped from his bellybutton beneath his boardshorts, slung sinfully low on his hips.

Oh, yeah. He was in hell. And hell looked fucking gorgeous.

Lance bent down in front of the cooler, now giving Keith a chance to see his ass stretch the fabric, glued to his skin by the heat of the shed, and a Keith could all but feel the blood in his brain drain towards his cock. Lance grabbed some ice, and wrapped the shirt around it, holding the makeshift ice pack out to Keith.

“Here, that should cool you down.”

Keith’s hand shook when he reached out for it. “T-Tha…”

Oh god, he was stuttering, and Lance was looking at him with those blue eyes gone soft, and he could not handle it. Couldn’t. He snatched the pack out of Lance’s hands too fast, and Lance’s eyes widened.

“I don’t need your pity, you know,” Keith said, cursing himself for it. Thank you. Is that so fucking hard to say? But he knew it was impossible for him to be nice to Lance, even if he was trying to help.

“Tch. You’re fucking welcome, asshole.”

“I didn’t ask for help.”

“Yeah, well, you needed it.” Lance scowled. “They didn’t exactly factor heat into this plan, did they?”

Keith’s answer was to moan as the ice pack hit his forehead. No, the heat wasn’t the reason he blushed, but god, it helped. He shook his head against it, and begrudgingly sighed.

“If we want out, we have to talk, I guess.”

Lance sat down by the cooler, bare arm over his knee. “Talk? To you? When the fuck have we ever done that?”

“Do you want to be here forever? I wouldn’t put it past Allura to lock us in here until we died.”

Lance glared at him. “I’d almost rather die than talk to you.”

And there it was. Keith swore his temper was hot enough to melt the ice on his forehead. He gripped the back of the ice pack, trying to resist the urge to punch Lance in his big ol’smug face.

Hadn’t that been what got them this way in the first place?

Supposedly they’d met in class on the first day of Freshman year. Keith didn’t fucking remember him—but Lance sure as hell wouldn’t let him forget he snubbed him that day. Keith thought he would’ve remembered that, especially when his first impression of Lance was Oh my god, bang me, but that quickly changed as soon as the fucker opened his mouth.

It only got worse, after Keith beat him in the first exam.

_“We’re rivals now, asshole.”_

_“Rivals?” Keith said. Lance was standing in front of him, hands balled at his sides, scowling at him._

_“Rivals. I’m gonna pound you into the dirt.”_

  
_“Tch.” Keith ground his teeth. “As if you could keep up.”_

  
_“At least I can keep up with a haircut, McMullet.”_

And that had been it, the starting point for every interaction he had with Lance. Fuck if it didn’t get worse, when he befriended Shiro, his goddamn brother for fuck’s sake, and then Pidge, Keith’s childhood friend. Soon it was Lance Lance Lance, all the time, and Lance would never let him fucking forget it.

But still, that first day? When he saw Lance walk up, disgruntled, stubborn look on his face, biting his lip in a too-tight hoodie and skinny jeans, brown hair stained bronze in the light of the classroom, and those blue eyes had zeroed in on him? Well, fuck.

It made him even angrier, how attractive Lance was. How, even when he was making an idiot of himself, flirting with every goddamn girl (even fucking Allura—that was like, blasphemy) in sight, there was…an energy to him that was infectious. As annoying as that fucking grin was, it still brightened up a goddamn room.

Keith had never been like that. Keith could never be like that. He was too moody and hot-tempered. Lance was everything he wasn’t, and it pushed all his fucking buttons.

 _Bet you wish he’d push more_ , his brain supplied and he squashed it the fuck down.

“Well, you’ll get your fucking chance, won’t you?” Keith got up and scowled, looking out the window. It was dirty with dust, but he could just make out the edge of the party. No sign of Allura. Maybe if he begged to be freed, she’d take pity on him—at least Keith had never hit on her. There was no chance of that, after all. Keith was gay. Keith was so gay.

Not that many people knew it. That was one of the other reasons he hated Lance—he flirted with every girl in existence with easy-flowing sexuality, and Keith could never fucking have that. He could never have it so easy, being as gay and taciturn as he was. Fucking straight boy Lance had it easier than everyone, yet he was hounding him because he happened to test better. Asshole.

“Ugh, well what the fuck do we talk about? How much we fucking hate each other?”

Keith turned and crossed his arms. “I don’t fucking know.”

“This is hopeless.” Lance got up, “We just don’t get along. All the shared friends in the world aren’t going to change that.”

“It upsets my brother.”

At that, Lance sighed. “Yeah…yeah, it does.”

Keith looked at the ground. “I think he really wants us to get along.”

“Yeah, I know. When he mentored me at Orientation he mentioned he had a brother in my major—wanted to introduce me.”

“Wait, what—“

“Yeah.” Lance scowled, “didn’t know it was you when I met you. Kind of the opposite of what he wanted.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, well,” Lance wiped the sweat from his brow—was it getting even hotter? “Can’t control how people interact. We’re just different. I’m charismatic, loud, gorgeous, and talented, and you’re Keith “Mullet-head” Kogane.”

“It’s not a damn mullet. God, could your ego get more swollen?”

“It’s not the only thing that gets swollen.” Lance shot Keith a lecherous smirk, and Keith felt his face redden, covering it behind the ice pack.

“Fucking—you’re such a pervert.”

“Ain’t my fault you’re a homophobe.”

“I—“ Wait. Wait. “What?”

Lance raised a brow. “Do I need to define the term for the great knucklehead hockey-and-physics star Keith Kogane? Homo-phobe. Meaning afraid of the gay.”

“I know what the fuck it means, asshole—why the fuck do you think I’m a homophobe?”

“What, seriously?” Lance got up, “You think I don’t know that’s why you flip out whenever I make a dirty comment? Fucking overly macho, hockey playing asshole. It’s bad enough that you’re a dick to me over school.”

“I’m not a fucking homophobe. Allura is bi!”

“Yeah well—wait, Allura is bi?”

“Yes!”

“…filing that away for later.”

“You fucking pig. I’m not a fucking homophobe.”

“Me, a pig? Maybe you’re one of those guys who thinks lesbians are okay but the thought of a guy jumping on some dude’s dick makes your butthole shrivel, or some shit.”

Keith couldn’t believe this. Now he was really, really fucking mad. The ice pack slipped from his fingers, and he stomped to where Lance stood, arms crossed.

He didn’t budge when Keith got up in his face.

“Oh, yeah. Me being a homophobe to the fuckwad straight ass that tries to fuck every woman in existence. Being uncomfortable with you being a pervert doesn’t make me a homophobe. Kinda have to be gay for that?”

“Yeah.” Lance leaned down. Keith blanched—he’d gotten close enough to feel his breath on his face. “And I’m not gay.”

Keith snorted. “I rest my—“

“I’m bi, asshole.”

For a second, the world froze as Lance glared down at Keith with those blue, blue eyes. Keith felt like he was drowning under a frozen lake, the heat momentarily forgotten.

Lance…was bi.

Lance was bi.

_Lance was bi._

“Well, gonna run into your corner from the big scary queer, now?” Lance waved an arm out. “How about I really up it for you, put on a lisp, a little sway to my—“

“You aren’t bi.”

“What?”

The words were flowing out of Keith’s mouth, even though his brain shut off.

“You can’t be bi.”

“With the amount of dick I’ve sucked, I think I know my sexuality, douchecanoe.”

Heat started to creep back into Keith’s face. “I—you hit on every girl around.”

“Yeah. Bi. I like clams as much as hot dogs.”

Now Keith was too hot. Too close to Lance, yet he couldn’t move. Lance was attracted to men. He had to be fucking with him. He had to be.

“And Nyma?”

The words were out of his mouth before he could think about it. Lance’s nostrils flared.

“Don’t fucking mention her to me again. Or was earlier not e-fuckin-nough for you?”

“I—“

“You have no fucking idea how hard that was. No fucking clue. We’re not friends, but do you know what it took for the others to get me out of that funk? Any idea?”

Lance was even closer now. Keith could see his pupils dialate, the individual hairs on his brow raise with rage. Keith took a step back, and Lance took a step forward.

“Shiro and Allura had to drag me from my room. I was so depressed I couldn’t even fucking shower. The girl fucking broke me.”

Another step. Another. Another.

“You have no right to talk to me about her.’

Another, and then the wall was at Keith’s back. Lance hovered over him, each hand at the side of Keith’s head as Lance glared at him.

“What, gonna just stand there? Come on, there’s more than one way to settle this. We could beat the crap out of each other.”

“You’d lose,” Keith’s voice sounded small, even to him, but it was true. Lance scowled.

“I don’t fucking care. As long as I finally get to punch that pretty little face of yours.”

Lance’s breath tickled Keith’s face, sending a shiver coursing down his skin, and warmth to pool at his belly. Fuck, Lance was close. So fucking close. The heat of the shed, combined with the heat of his body was making Keith’s head spin.

“Come on, let’s fight.”

“I—“

“What, are you chicken—“

Keith’s grabbed Lance by the neck and pulled him forward.

For a second, the first moment his lips touched Lance’s, he was scared. Terrified, really—what was he doing, how was he doing this, why would he ever?

His second thought? Lance’s lips are soft. Achingly so. The line of his bare chest was shoved against Keith, the scent of him pressed into his face—spicy cologne and sweet, sweet sweat.

Then Lance kissed him back.

He pulled Keith closer to him, pressing his mouth harder against Keith’s. Keith moaned, and his open mouth was met with the sweetness of Lance’s tongue. A hand fisted into Keith’s black hair, desperate and rough—too rough, but Keith didn’t care, couldn’t care, because every nerve, every vein of his body sang out Lance’s name, a cacophony that trembled underneath his skin, too hot and too wild. He didn’t want to breathe air anymore, not if he could breathe Lance.

Keith met his tongue with his own, taking a moment to suck on Lance’s lower lip, and nip there. It made Lance’s fingers tighten on his hair. There was too much sensation, too much tension to be gentle—it was like one of their fights, their tongues fighting for dominance, too wrapped up in each other to care about anything else.

They parted, breathing hard, though neither of them moved away from each other. Keith couldn’t move—for all that he had grabbed, for all that he had pulled Lance into the kiss, he couldn’t move now. Not that he had anywhere to go in a locked fucking shed.

Lance stared at him---Lance burned in front of him, his eyes tight and dark, glossy with emotion Keith couldn’t identify. It sent a thrill up Keith’s skin—fear, hunger—a want so strong it shook him to the core.

Could they kiss again? Could Keith get as much out of this before they went back to fighting? Please.

“Fuck,” Lance said, more breath than word. He swallowed—Keith tracked the motion of his adam’s apple in his throat, following the long lines of Lance’s neck up to his lips again.

“I’m gay.”

Lance’s eyes widened, and so did Keith’s, because that wasn’t what he intended to say. Fuck. He blushed, and tried to look away from Lance’s hard gaze, but couldn’t. Keith bit his lip.

“I’m, uh…I’m really, really gay.”

Lance stared, blinked.

"Oh…since when?”

Keith’s eyes hardened. “I don’t think there was a precise moment where the gay fairy came and decided to bless me with the homo, Lance.”

Lance swallowed again. He looked wound up—almost scared. "...yeah, that was stupid to say.”

They stayed like that, in silence, Lance’s eyes ghosting over Keith’s face, Keith burning under the look—it was too hot in the shed; Lance’s hands on him felt like

being pushed against a fireplace, but he couldn’t move. Wouldn’t.

“I… fuck.” Lance leaned in, “Make out now, think later?”

“God, yes.”

This time, Lance pressed into him, shoving him harder against the wall. The rough plywood bit into the skin of Keith’s upper back, but he ignored it for the feel of Lance’s body, all hard and firm lines of it, pushing into Keith.

Keith’s hands found Lance’s waist, the bare skin above the low sling of his hips. They tightened when Lance opened the kiss, the hot, sweet burn of his tongue sending electric fire boiling through Keith as their tongues tangled. Keith keened into the kiss—the sound a high hum in the back of his throat, and he felt Lance moan against his mouth.

It was too much. Too much, and Keith couldn’t help it when his hips bucked out, grinding against Lance to find out they were both hard as rocks.

Keith broke the kiss, leaning back his head against the wall, gasping. “Fuck, Lance.” Lance sucked in air with a hiss, and claimed Keith’s jaw with his mouth, sucking and nipping a wet line from his neck to his collarbone, simultaneously grinding his hips into Keith again, harder, gasping when Keith let out a guttural moan. Keith thrust back into the friction—too good, so good.

“Fuck, Keith. God.” Lance whispered Keith’s name into his neck between bites, licking the soreness away with his tongue. His hand reached up and knotted in

Keith’s hair, tangling in sweaty strands, holding his head back for better access to his collarbone. He bit down, and sucked hard—hard enough Keith nearly screamed. God it, hurt, but it was hotter than hell, and he pulled Lance’s hips harder into him, over and over.

 _God_ , he could come like this, with Lance half naked in his hands, grinding against him through thin fabric of his shorts. Keith’s breath came in shallow pants as he gripped Lance’s hips hard enough to hurt, and Lance let out a gasp.

“This needs to go.” Lance pulled back and tugged at the flannel, trying to yank it off Keith. When it finally came off, he pulled at the tank top.

“I can take it off myself!” Keith said. Lance ignored him, tugging.

“Fair’s fair, Keith.”

The shirt came off.

Keith was not the most proud of his body. If anything, he was self-conscious about it. He knew he had muscle—he also had years of scars from playing hockey, and more than a few from hot-headed arguments that ended in fists growing up. So when Lance’s eyes heated at taking in his torso, Keith wanted to shrivel up.

He was scarred—he knew.

Lance traced the lines of his stomach, fingers running over the flat muscle, following the ropey line of one particular scar. His eyes were dark, unreadable.

“Where…”

“Skating accident. Skater walked across my belly.”

Lance sucked in a breath. His fingers moved up to his chest, tracing an X-mark scar, dark on Keith’s pale skin.

“I’ve…never seen you shirtless before.”

“Not many people have. I—“

His voice caught in his throat as Lance bent his head to run his tongue over the X of the scar. Lance panted, breathing as he moved to another scar, tracing sensitive skin.

“Fuck. Is everything you do hot? It’s unfair.”

That got through Keith’s head. “Everything?”

Lance hummed in agreement as he moved lower, still licking. The sight of him descending down and down did horrible, wonderful things to Keith’s southern anatomy. He imagined Lance’s mouth wrapped around him, lips parted and red, taking him. God, fuck, how many times had he jerked it to that, and now Lance was a hand-span away from his crotch.

“Everything. Christ.”

Keith couldn’t help it, “Even the mullet?”

Lance froze, shutting his eyes. For a second, Keith thought he would stop, and instantly regretted speaking. Fuck, did he ruin this? He couldn’t ruin this. He’d hate himself forever, god it was--

“Fucking hell, I must have a secret Billy Ray Cyrus fetish, because even that looks good on you.”

Keith’s eyes widened, “wait, what--?”

Lance looked up at him, still not moving from his crouch. Even though his skin was dark, even darker in the summer, his cheeks were still stained red.

“I…uh.” Lance licked his lips, and swallowed. “I maybe…like your mullet. Maybe. Hypothetically. Might have always wanted to run my fingers through it. It looks soft all the time and it flops in your face and it’s adorable and fuck, I maybe wanted to grab it while I—“

Lance swallowed, and looked away. Keith watched him, stunned. “I…I shouldn’t talk anymore.”

Keith snorted. “Figures you’d shut up as soon as I like something you say.”

Lance glared up at him. “Maybe I just want to do something else with my mouth you’d like more.”

He crouched down fully, and then there was a mouth over the tent of Keith’s board shorts. Even through the fabric, Keith felt the touch of Lance’s hot mouth, tight over the tip of his cock. He hissed and arched his back, gasping out Lance’s name. Lance pulled back, and gave Keith the most smug, shit-eating grin.

“Still want me to talk?” He tugged at the waistband of Keith’s shorts with a finger, dragging them lower across his hips. He let his nail drag along the middle of

Keith’s stomach, and Keith swallowed, tracking the movement with hooded, hungry eyes.

“Fuck you, Lance.”

“I mean, maybe after.”

Fuck, that did not help Keith’s libido. The thought of Lance on top of him, Keith’s cock deep inside him, listening to Lance scream his name over and over as Keith fucked him until he couldn’t think, couldn’t say anything other than his name. Until Keith left him a shuddering, hungry mess, driving into the tightness of him.

Keith wanted that. Lance winked.

“Or even the other way around.”

 _Oh god_ , Keith wanted that too. His breathing turned shallow as Lance reached his other hand to brush against Keith’s cock, kneading him. Keith’s breath hitched.

“Maybe later. For now?” Lance looked up at him, meeting Keith’s eyes. Blue eyes peeked out through eyes half-lidded, lust dancing dark, turning them the color of a midnight sky. “I need you in my mouth.”

For a brief moment, Keith repeated maybe later in his head, hope bursting in his chest, cut off by Lance pulling his shorts down to his knees, and grabbing a fistful of Keith’s dick. Keith moaned.

“Fuck, Keith.” Lance held it and looked at it. “Jesus Christ, if I knew I could have this meal in front of me…”

_God, just suck it al—_

  
Lance ran his tongue along the underside of Keith’s cock, from base to tip. Hot breath ghosted over the glans, sending a ray of warmth through Keith’s insides.

Lance pulled back, almost reverent, staring at Keith’s dick like it was the best thing in the world.

Then he put it in his mouth.

He started slow, sucking on the tip, and running his tongue across the slit, making Keith groan, his head falling back against the wall of the shed. Already, the heat of Lance’s mouth was more than he could bear, and he’d just started. It’d been too long since he last had sex—a shitty one-night stand with a hockey player from a different college who barely knew what to do with his dick, nevermind Keith’s.

Lance, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was doing. He’d done this before, Keith realized. On some level, he recognized that Lance had been with other men, had had his plump, perfect mouth on other dicks. The thought sent a sunburst of jealousy off behind Keith’s eyes. He’d wanted Lance so long, so long, and he’d been sucking off other dudes, fucking other dudes.

It was irrational, and possessive, but Keith was so far gone he couldn’t fucking care. But if it had a positive side, it meant Lance was a pro at sucking dick.

Lance grabbed Keith's base, lowering himself to meet his fist each time. Keith’s fingers tangled in Lance’s hair of their own accord—short, soft strands spiked under Keith’s fingertips. Keith swallowed a gasp, trying to keep himself from thrusting into Lance’s mouth, trying to keep from questing after his tongue and warm throat. He didn’t want to hurt Lance.

But then Lance’s fist was gone, and he swallowed Keith to the base.

Keith swore, eyes popping open, hand tightening in Lance’s hair. Lance held him there, hollowed cheeks, lips puckered and red as his tongue worked the underside. Keith couldn’t help it—he thrust, too far gone to control it now. Lance grunted, but he didn’t choke. He just took it, took it and hummed, the vibration burning up Keith’s skin, throbbing in his blood and bones.

_“Oh god, Lance. You’re so good. So fucking good—fuck—want you so much. Don’t care how don’t care jesus fuck.”_

Lance moaned against him, rising up to fall back on him, again to the hilt. His fingers found Keith’s balls now, which ached from lack of attention.

Keith was not going to last. He couldn’t last.

“Lance, I’m—I’m gonna. I’m gonna—“

Lance didn’t move. He just shifted his fingers behind his balls, and pressed the skin between Keith’s ass, and his sack, and something in Keith broke.

“Agh!”

White lightning shattered behind his eyes. His body shook with the violence of his orgasm, thrusting over and over into Lance’s mouth. Lance swallowed it—he fucking swallowed it, making Keith want to scream over and over again. Keith panted, as Lance came off his dick with a pop, lips stained red and bruised.

“Fuck.” Lance stood up, and pulled his dick out of his shorts. It lay thick in his hand, and Keith salivated looking at it. Lance’s back arched. “So close.”

Keith took that as his cue. He grabbed Lance, pulling him into a kiss, hard and fast, and then parted. Keith popped a finger into his mouth and slicked it. Lance panted, breath hot against Keith’s shoulder.

And Keith reached around behind him, and touched the entrance of his hole, pressing a finger in.

Keith was good at this, and found Lance’s prostate almost instantly.

Lance screamed. Loud enough Keith’s ears rang, and he came. He came hard, shaking against Keith as Keith held him, coaxing him through his orgasm by milking his prostate. Lance’s tremors didn’t stop for a moment, only a moment, before he was breathing hard and reaching his hands around Keith’s neck, leaning into the place where his throat met his collarbone.

“Goddamn it, Keith.” Keith leaned his head back against the wall, and they stood there, tangled in each other, Lance’s arms clinging to Keith like a lifesaver.

Keith’s hands wrapped around Lance’s bare back, singing in the warmth of his skin, the scent of sex-and-sweat-and cologne that was Lance, singing with the closeness of him.

He remembered Lance’s words from earlier, maybe later. Keith didn’t think he could handle it if this was all he got. He couldn’t, not now, not after fighting off his feelings for so long, running scared from them until he got shoved off a cliff and right into Lance and his body, his eyes, his dark lashes fluttering against his skin, into that goddamn sinful mouth he was going to fantasize about for years.

He hoped fantasies weren’t all he got to carry from this.

“I…Keith.” Lance breathed, disbelieving, finally pulling back. “That was—“

“Yeah.”

“Jesus.”

“Might disapprove, but lived with 12 guys and a beard.”

Lance snorted. “God, you’re weird. Sometimes you don’t get any jokes, and then you pull that shit out and—“

“And what?”

“And I fucking hate it, because you’re clever and cute and I just want to throw you against a…well.” Lance didn’t move away, but straightened, so that he was standing face to face with Keith. It used to bother Keith, that Lance was taller, if only by a bit, and not nearly as much as Lance liked to pretend.

Lance swallowed—were those…were those nerves, Keith was reading? Was Lance, brash-flirt-with-everything-that-moves, shameless Lance, nervous? Lance started to smooth a thumb over the bare skin of Keith’s waist, moving in a circular pattern along a scar, and making him shiver.

“I…I think I might not hate you.”

Keith blinked at him. “Might not?”

“Well, I mean—“

“Do you often put the dick of people you might not hate in your mouth?”

Lance groaned, and let his head drop to Keith’s chest. “Shut it, asswipe.”

“I like you.”

He felt Lance stiffen against him, then looked up, face open with surprise. Keith felt his face heat up, and again cursed his skin couldn’t hide anything.

“I like you a lot.”

Lance blinked, face softening. “I think…I think I do too.”

Keith’s mouth opened in a smile, “really?” He watched as Lance watched him, pink dusting his cheeks.

“Well, yeah. I like me a lot too—fuck, don’t hit me!”

“Lance.” Keith’s voice dropped low, and that got Lance’s attention. Lance frowned.

“Fine…I like you. I like you a lot. A lot a lot.”

Keith’s grin was the brightest it had ever been.

  
  
*

  
“I can’t believe you forgot they were in there! It’s been four hours. Do you know how hot that shed gets?”

“I thought you were going to get them,” Shiro protested. “And you would have forgotten them longer if I hadn’t asked!”

Allura frowned, flicking a silver curl over her shoulder. “Fuck—I may have to apologize to Lance. I’ll never live it down.”

“We locked him in a boiling hot shed for four hours. I think he might be entitled to it.”

Allura clucked her tongue, but couldn’t deny that.

When they got to the shed, they found Pidge standing in front of it, eyes gleaming. “Yo.”

Allura frowned at them. “What are—“ Pidge winked, and held something out in their fist, throwing it to Shiro, who caught it with his non-prosthetic hand. The keys to the shed. Allura frowned.

“Wait, how did you get the—“

“You and Hunk owe Shiro and I fifty bucks.” Pidge said, winking at Allura.

Shiro and Allura looked at each other, and went to the shed.

There, sitting in front of the open cooler, the ice long since melted, sat Keith and Lance, both shirtless and against each other. Keith rested his head on Lance’s shoulder, and both were sound asleep, Keith’s lashes fluttering against Lance’s skin.

On Keith’s neck bloomed the biggest, reddest hickey Allura had ever seen, and her hand went to her mouth. Shiro just looked onward, knowing grin on his lips.

They both turned from the shed door.

“Worth losing fifty bucks?” Shiro asked. Allura smirked.

“Definitely.”

Pidge sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “Put two tools in a shed, and something is bound to get hammered.”

Allura and Shiro glared at them. “Gross.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, critiques, and kudos are all welcome!
> 
> Also, that cake is based on the one I had at my grad party from a local bakery. That shit was made with god's tears and crack, I swear.


End file.
